The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the café windows, painting gold over the wooden tables.
The rush hour had passed, leaving only the smell of vanilla, milk, and faint roasted beans lingering in the air.
Mira wiped the counter lazily. "Okay, spill it," she said.
Ayaan, who was currently arranging the biscotti jars, blinked. "Spill what?"
"You've been smiling at nothing for two days straight," Mira said flatly. "And don't you dare say it's just good coffee. No one smiles that much over caffeine."
Maya looked up from her notebook, eyes gleaming. "Oh no, this is serious. That's the kind of smile people get after… something."
Ayaan frowned, flustered. "After what?"
Maya and Mira exchanged a look, identical grins spreading.
Mira whispered dramatically, "After. A. Kiss."
Ayaan nearly dropped the jar.
Maya gasped. "It did happen, didn't it?! You finally kissed him!"
Ayaan groaned and covered his face with both hands. "You two are unbelievable."
"Oh my god, you did! I knew it!" Mira clapped once, then leaned over the counter, practically sparkling. "When? Where? Tell me everything!"
"Mira!"
"Details, Ayaan! Don't make me beg."
He sighed, cheeks burning pink. "It's not that big of a deal…"
Maya gasped again. "Not that big of a deal?! After a year of blushing, avoiding questions, and denying your 'mysterious rich customer', you finally kissed him, and you say it's not a big deal?!"
"Okay, okay," Ayaan surrendered, rubbing his neck, his face red all the way to his ears. "Fine… it's true."
The café fell silent for a moment.
Then-
Mira and Maya screamed.
"I KNEW IT!" Mira shouted, slamming her towel on the counter. "You two were always giving that energy, him glaring at everyone except you oh my god!!"
"And the way he looks at you like you're sunlight!" Maya added, nearly knocking over her cup in excitement. "I KNEW IT WAS LOVE!"
Ayaan tried to shush them, laughing helplessly. "You're going to scare away the customers!"
"There are no customers," Mira pointed out, grinning like a cat. "Just us and your tragic attempts at denial."
He shook his head, still blushing. "You two are too much."
"No, no, you don't understand," Maya said, leaning forward eagerly. "You've made my entire week. My fanfic heart is thriving right now. The cold CEO and the sweet café boy? That's literally my favorite trope."
"Maya," Ayaan said weakly, "I am not your trope."
"You are now!" she chirped.
Mira laughed so hard she had to lean on the counter. "Oh, I can't wait to see his face when he finds out you told us."
Ayaan froze. "You... you're not going to tell him, right?"
"Oh, don't worry," Mira smirked. "Your secret's safe with us."
"Mostly," Maya added with a teasing grin.
Ayaan groaned again. "Please don't do anything weird."
Mira grinned wider. "No promises."
But as their laughter filled the café, Ayaan found himself smiling softly.
He hadn't planned to tell anyone. It just… slipped out.
But somehow, it felt good like setting something heavy down after carrying it too long.
For months, his feelings had been this quiet, private thing between him and Rudra whispered messages, shared looks, secret smiles.
But now, saying it out loud, watching his friends light up with happiness it felt real in a new way.
And deep down, beneath the shyness, a warmth bloomed.
Later that night, after closing up, Ayaan locked the door and stood for a moment, looking out through the glass.
The city lights shimmered outside, soft, distant.
He pulled his phone out and typed a message.
They know.
I told them.
It took only a few seconds for the reply to come.
…You did?
Ayaan smiled to himself.
Yes. Don't worry. They're happy for us.
Another pause.
Then:
Good. Don't let them tell anyone else.
He laughed under his breath. That was so Rudra.
I won't. Goodnight.
There was another pause longer this time.
Then, finally:
Goodnight, Ayaan.
Ayaan's reflection in the window smiled back at him soft, glowing, content.
The afternoon sun spilled through the glass windows of the thirty-first floor, painting gold streaks across the polished table. The entire floor was silent except for the low hum of computers and the rhythmic clicking of keyboards.
Rudra sat behind his desk , pristine, precise, untouched except for a stack of perfectly aligned papers and his phone.
He had just finished reviewing a contract when the phone buzzed once.
A message.
He glanced at it, almost dismissively.
But the name on the screen made his finger pause midair.
Mom.
It had been months no, perhaps longer since she had last texted him. Usually, it was the assistant from the family home calling to "remind" him of events. His parents rarely reached out personally.
He opened the message.
I know that you are busy, child, but your father hosted a lunch and dinner, so... please, son, come home.
Mom will always love you.
For a moment, the world went silent around him.
The hum of the office faded.
The ticking of the clock seemed louder.
His eyes stayed fixed on the message , the small words glowing on the screen, wrapped in warmth that didn't seem to belong in his world.
It wasn't that it was wrong.
It was just… unexpected.
"Mom will always love you."
The phrase should have meant something.
It should've brought a smile, a soft exhale something.
But it didn't.
Instead, something heavy pressed against his chest, not pain exactly, but a strange uneasiness that made him shift slightly in his chair.
Love was a language he hadn't spoken in years.
Maybe never.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
He typed:
I'll see if I can make it.
Then deleted it.
He tried again.
I'm busy.
Deleted that too.
Finally, he locked the phone and placed it face down on the desk.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling quietly.
Across the office, Meera peeked in through the glass door, froze at the sight of his expression, and instantly backed away.
Even she knew better than to disturb him when he was that still eyes distant, jaw tight, as if he were somewhere else entirely.
Rudra stared at the skyline through the glass wall.
Tall buildings. Cars like insects. A perfect, quiet world that mirrored his own organized, predictable, empty.
His mother's words echoed again in his mind.
Mom will always love you.
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, as if to push away the unfamiliar feeling that tried to surface the faint, almost imperceptible tug in his chest.
No.
There was no space for that.
Love, warmth, family those belonged to people who didn't have to be Rudra Malhotra.
He straightened in his chair, adjusted his cufflinks, and called out, "Meera."
She rushed in immediately.
"Yes, sir?"
"Push the 4 PM meeting to 3:45. I don't want to wait."
"Y-yes, sir."
The tone was cold again, sharp enough to cut through the air. The silence that followed was absolute.
But he didn't hate it, no he didn't,
But it was not familiar and he was never used to it, love or warmth.